Hope to Remember
by Wilhelmina Willoughby
Summary: L/J. James takes time to remember.


_Hey y'all! I'm back! Happy June and happy summer and happy end-of-school to everyone (if you're out!); I hope everybody did fantastic on exams and projects and finals and whatnot, and I hope everybody's having a wonderful summer. Thank you all so much for your continued support and wonderful, kind words and thanks for checking in on me during my long hiatus! I AM back now, but things are going to be going pretty slowly until I get into the swing of things again. _Quiet Summer_ and _just like a circus_ have not been forgotten but have been set aside for a little while._

_Anyhow, I know this is short, but I'm just testing the waters again. Hope you enjoy :)_

_As always,  
Mina_

* * *

He remembers how easy it was, their official first date. He remembers how he was nervous, and how he felt silly for being so nervous after she nervously kissed him on the cheek and told him that she was nervous, too. He remembers smiling after that and telling her that it was just him, that she didn't have any reason to be nervous, did she? He remembers how she smiled.

Her smile? It was like… it was like butter. Her smile slid down his spine and turned his limbs all soft and rested nice and warm and buttery in the deepest part of his stomach. Her smile made him smile. Her smile made everything okay. He'd always remember that about her smile -- that it calmed him, that it touched his heart from across the room, that it said, "I'm yours, I love you, everything's alright."

He remembers how she smiled when he surprised her with breakfast that one morning when she awoke in the common room after studying for exams all night. Sure she reprimanded him a little -- it was Lily, of course she reprimanded him, but since she loved him, it was only a little -- but then she kissed him and the butter in his stomach churned and his heart warmed and yeah. Yeah. Everything was good.

He remembers how easy it was to find their stuff intermingling. Her quill resting on his bedside table. His class ring sitting with the rest of her jewelry. Her bra (always modest) or a sock (always white) in his laundry. His invisibility cloak hidden safely under her bed. Her diary -- he remembers how full he felt when he realized just how much she trusted him not to read it -- stuffed underneath his mattress. He remembers how easy it was, how much it made _him_ smile, to see her come into his dormitory without a word just to pick up something she'd left in there and to leave just as silently.

He remembers her face when he crept into the Prefects' bath on their last year. It'd been late at night and nobody was around -- he'd checked -- and they'd been getting to that stage, so he didn't really think she'd be uncomfortable with it. When he entered, she was in the bath, underneath the bubbles, her eyes closed, her hair fanned about her. He cleared his throat. She stiffened, and her eyes slowly opened to see him standing nervously at the faucets, ten feet of cautious air between them. He remembers her smile, then -- "I'm yours, I love you, everything's alright" -- and the way her hand was slick as she took his, the same way her waist was slick as he slid his fingers across her skin.

He remembers the simple things about her, like the way she crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out when he was being too serious or the way she pressed her lips together when she was stressed. He remembers the way her face lit up when she saw a child, or an animal, or a child with an animal, or a baby animal, or a baby. He remembers how the silence would change between them after that look. How they both wanted it. How they both knew.

He remembers the first time he touched her, the first time she touched him. He remembers the way they were both calm -- the way she said, "I'm not nervous," and the way he said, "Me neither," and the way she said, "I love you" but just through her smile and he remembers the way he kissed her, gently, slowly, on the forehead. He remembers the way her eyes colored and how her pupils moved when he slid into her for the first time, and the second time, and the fifth time, and the eighth and fourteenth and thirtieth. He remembers the way she'd whisper into his shoulder, the way she'd giggle, the way she'd press her fingers into his back and the noises she'd make. He remembers her sigh afterwards, always the same tone, the same inflection.

He remembers how she'd help Hagrid when nobody else would. He remembers how she'd keep insane hours doing extra work she didn't need to be doing just so she could stay ahead. He remembers the proud little smirk she'd get when she knew she did something well and the blush on her face when she saw that he caught it. He remembers the way she'd hug him after every Quidditch match and whisper into his ear that she was proud of him, even if he lost. He remembers the release he'd feel when she'd say that, the relief that would cut right through his losing anger and disappointment.

He remembers the way she said yes. The way the diamond on her finger always caught the sun at the perfect moments -- when they'd be sitting in the park, when they'd be goofing off in the kitchen, when they'd be cuddling on the couch. He remembers picking out the invitations, and choosing the foods, and the lists. Oh, the lists. He remembers how he never got tired of it, though. He remembers remembering all this about her, and he remembers smiling, and he remembers that it'd all be worth it in the end, especially now.

Because her smile? It's still like butter, and it still says, "I'm yours, I love you, everything's alright," even though she's crying and he's crying and he's pretty sure a majority of the room is crying. She's beautiful in her dress with her hair up and curly; she's beautiful with overwhelming happiness and excitement.

He remembers all of this about her -- their fighting, their making up, their peace, their contentment, everything about her and him and them together that makes what they have seem so damn perfect -- and when he looks at her and says, "I do," he knows that it's the easiest, most certain thing he's ever said.


End file.
